tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52049712462792849262018-03-08T09:05:29.060-06:00Arthrito-GirlArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-76260539205125891442012-06-14T08:57:00.001-05:002012-12-09T16:53:44.534-06:00Thanks for stopping by!<a href="http://kellythekitchenkop.com/2012/06/stop-persecuting-my-farmer-a-moms-view-of-a-real-food-crackdown.html" target="_blank">I'm so excited to have a post of mine featured on Kelly the Kitchen Kop</a>!&nbsp; Thanks, Kelly!<br /><br />It's funny to me that something as clean and pure as raw milk from healthy, grass-fed cows is creating such a raucous - yet here we are.&nbsp;<br /><br />I'm grateful that my family still has access to this important part of our diet (which also means fresh, raw cream for my iced coffee, and cultured sour cream for our tacos - yum!)&nbsp; I know we're on the right track, diet- and lifestyle-wise, because my kids continue to impress our doctors with their robust health, and when they do occasionally catch a virus they bounce back quickly.&nbsp; My experience with the severe nosedive in my own health ten years ago, and subsequent comeback with a change in diet, confirms it for me: we need to embrace real, whole foods...we shouldn't be fearful of them.&nbsp;<br /><br />These days we have everything we need in abundance to be strong, healthy, and happy - all the better now that we also have more knowledge and better sanitation than in decades past!&nbsp; We know the importance of hand-washing and better farming practices, so we can reap the benefits of real foods without the high risks that previous generations had without this knowledge.&nbsp;<br /><br />I think it's incredibly arrogant of us to move in the direction of pasteurizing, irradiating, and generally killing the nutrients of our food.&nbsp; But that is exactly where we're heading with the increase of mass-producing, industrialized farms; many of these foods need these damaging processes in order to be "safe" for consumption (and the resulting products may be "safe", but they certainly aren't nourishing or healthy.)&nbsp; If this is what some people want, fine - let them have it.&nbsp; But allow me and the others who prefer small farms and access to fresh foods to have what we want.&nbsp; To each his own, and we will let time tell which diet is better for the health of humans and our planet.ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-82980833608392236852011-07-24T23:12:00.000-05:002012-12-09T16:57:29.988-06:00Pickl-It Lacto-Fermented Cherry Chutney<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I finally decided to give lacto-fermented fruit chutney a try again after a miserably failed attempt in a mason jar about 3 years ago. The result was a super moldy mango chutney, which I had spent so much time and money on, and it scared me from even considering another try with fruit until now.&nbsp; I have my friend, Beth, to thank - she's the one who reminded me of fruit chutney, and got me all fired up to try again with her drool-worthy ideas of combinations like pineapple and cilantro (yum!).<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l_PlxrHxNt4/TizkNND2feI/AAAAAAAAAMo/mhG2Q7rDZFg/s1600/0933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l_PlxrHxNt4/TizkNND2feI/AAAAAAAAAMo/mhG2Q7rDZFg/s320/0933.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />It was really hard choosing which to start with, but I finally chose the cherry chutney recipe from Sally Fallon's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nourishing-Traditions-Challenges-Politically-Dictocrats/dp/0967089735">Nourishing Traditions</a>.&nbsp; I don't bother with fermenting in mason jars anymore, due to the mold and questionable bacteria issues - I threw away too much money on bad batches with that method.&nbsp; So I made a few slight adjustments to the recipe for my <a href="http://www.pickl-it.com/">Pickl-It</a>: I omitted the whey (it's <a href="http://www.pickl-it.com/faq/145/do-i-need-starter-culture/">unnecessary</a> in the anaerobic environment of the Pickl-It jars) and used the classic 3.6% brine solution when measuring the salt (1/2 Tbs per 1 C of water...so it really wasn't that far off of Sally's recipe.)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ydYUJ4BoKyM/TizlfR39LVI/AAAAAAAAAMs/S0LnmgLgp7w/s1600/0934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ydYUJ4BoKyM/TizlfR39LVI/AAAAAAAAAMs/S0LnmgLgp7w/s320/0934.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I used one pound each of Rainier cherries and red cherries, and most of them fit perfectly in a 1-Liter Pickl-It jar (a few cherries were moldy, and I ate about a handful as I cut out the pits :)&nbsp; <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sngIXD6kdsQ/TizmFLbAfJI/AAAAAAAAAMw/QSs8PiGuNwU/s1600/0938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sngIXD6kdsQ/TizmFLbAfJI/AAAAAAAAAMw/QSs8PiGuNwU/s320/0938.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />After gently pressing the cherries down with my handy-dandy <a href="http://www.krautpounder.com/page2.html">kraut pounder</a>, I licked it to see what cherries, orange zest/juice, coriander, clove, rapadura, and salt would taste like together.&nbsp; YUM!!&nbsp; I only wish this jar were 5-Liters instead of just 1...I have a feeling this stuff will be gobbled up fast when it's done!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O9L2pRLg1QA/TizmuIs2WhI/AAAAAAAAAM0/8yBFP6ottPk/s1600/0942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O9L2pRLg1QA/TizmuIs2WhI/AAAAAAAAAM0/8yBFP6ottPk/s320/0942.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Like I always say, waiting for the lactic-acid bacteria to do their job is the hardest part...ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-68300582872322751052010-12-23T10:31:00.000-06:002012-12-09T17:02:17.702-06:00Welcome home!After spending an enjoyable week in Atlanta with my family, we came home to a state that had just been hit by a huge blizzard. "Snowmageddon", "SnOMG", and "Snowpocalypse" were liberally sprinkled among the Facebook updates I saw while checking in on my phone at the airport. We weren't sure what to expect after touching down in the tundra, but braced ourselves for the worst.<br /><br />Bracing didn't help.<br /><br />One of Mark's good friends was kind enough to be our personal chauffeur again, so at least we didn't have to deal with airport parking. Mark was sure to jokingly point out that our car parked on his driveway during the blizzard was actually our favor to HIM, seeing as how it was that much less space to shovel. And when you're talking about an average of 2 feet of snow and drifts that were much higher, maybe he's right. Regardless, we appreciated his efforts but the luxury stopped when we dropped him off at his house and headed home. It was about 6:30 pm when we pulled up in front of our house. The sky was dark and the girls were cranky from all of the traveling, and were falling asleep because it was their bedtime. And our driveway was covered in 2 feet of snow, with a nice big drift right down the middle and an icy 3-foot bank at the bottom from the city plow.<br /><br />We decided to leave the suitcases in the car and bring the girls in first. After getting them to sleep, we'd deal with the driveway and emptying the car. So we each picked up a kid and trudged through thigh-deep snow up to the house. What a sensation cold snow is on warm ankles when it sneaks in through jeans and socks! And what fun it is entering your house for the first time in a week to be met with the chirping of a dead smoke alarm battery and an empty fridge. Even better when you discover that you're out of 9v batteries, and the offending alarm is the one in your bedroom. <br /><br />Long story short, we unbundled the girls and Mark handled bedtime alone while I handled the battery and driveway issues. Only this time when I went through the snow I was wearing boots. Quite an improvement for my feet and ankles, but the jeans still didn't cut it. I ran to the gas station to get a battery and then returned home to tackle the driveway, cursing as I trudged back up the driveway yet again.<br /><br />At least we have a snowblower. We have a longer-than-average driveway which is compounded by the fact that it's L-shaped, so I think Mark had wanted one for a while. But I tipped the scale when I was stuck frantically shoveling myself out for work one morning while he was on a business trip in China. This was during the worst of my Rheumatoid Arthritis, so it was more than just a nuisance. And that memory helped to put things into perspective for me on this particular night. Yes, we had just spent the day in airports and on an airplane, traveling with two small children who are not fond of the pressure changes on the descent. And yes, this was an incredibly annoying time for all of these inconveniences to greet us. But I am in a completely different place now than the shoveling incident in 2005; I'm strong, healthy, and mostly free of chronic pain.<br /><br />First I had to figure out how to turn the snowblower on.&nbsp; Yes, I was starting from <i>that</i> point! Then when I realized that the snow was a good 6 inches higher than the blower, and it had a 2 inch crust of ice on top, I had to perfect my technique. And then when it took an hour to make a dent I had to ration my energy if I wanted to get the car into the garage and avoid a parking ticket. Oh, and I also had to refill the snowblower when it ran out of gas. Twice.<br /><br />My body was bruised up by the time I was done, thanks to my having to throw myself against the snowblower just to get it through the snow. And I could barely push a cart at the grocery store the next day because my palms were so sore. It was not a fun experience, but it was a good one. I like feeling self-sufficient, and boy what an accomplishment that was for me. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TRN045gFcEI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/QBE2w32loh8/s1600/9713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TRN045gFcEI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/QBE2w32loh8/s320/9713.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TRN1VsytylI/AAAAAAAAAMY/W3AVhYdujK4/s1600/9719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TRN1VsytylI/AAAAAAAAAMY/W3AVhYdujK4/s320/9719.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>How fortunate I am that this is my biggest complaint in a long time.ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-74255872859901921662010-12-23T09:12:00.000-06:002010-12-23T09:12:11.343-06:00Eating with a toddlerThose with a weak stomach should not eat with a toddler. <br /><br />This is what was going through my mind while eating breakfast with Claire this morning and, unfortunately, is a regularly occurring thought. I must admit that I love her enthusiasm and zeal for life in general, but especially for food - if anybody enjoys her food, it's Claire. And maybe we adults could learn something from her and her fellow experimenting peers. <br /><br />One of her favorite things to do is mix things together. If she has a bowl of berries and a glass of milk, the berries are sure to wind up in the milk and her fingers are guaranteed to be covered in milk (as are the table, her chair, and her shirt.) That's not so bad - it's reminiscent of berries and cream, and milk is easy enough to clean up. A more borderline experiment is crackers and olives in her kombucha. But maybe the worst combination to date was this morning.<br /><br />It started with an innocent glass of milk. She mastered drinking from a glass months, if not a year or two, ago. But she got a huge cheek-filling gulp and had to spit some back into the glass. It happened again so Mark said "watch mama drink from her glass, see how she does it." I slowly brought my glass to my lips and demonstrated a nice, slow sip for her. No drips, no filled cheeks. No spitting. I gently set my glass down on the table again.<br /><br />"Oh, with ONE hand," she said in all seriousness. Yes, that was the takeaway; that all of her problems would be solved by using only one hand instead of two to hold her glass of milk. Way to nail that lesson, mom and dad!<br /><br />She went on eating her breakfast of 2 eggs over easy with a piece of toast cut into little pieces so she can get the perfect egg/toast ratio on the fork each time. One of the next bites were apparently too big, so naturally she spit it out. Into her glass of milk. Mark started to say "OK, that's enough," when Claire proceeded to drink the milk, without spilling or filling her cheeks. She followed it up with an emphatic "Mmmm-Mmm!"<br /><br />I was taking my supplements and had a mouth full of milk myself, and was trying not to laugh when she leaned over as if to tell me a secret. "I have toast in my milk!" And then she took another sip with closed eyes, as if to say "this is divine!" I would have taken and shared pictures of this, as I normally do, but won't for two reasons. 1. it looked pretty gross, and 2. I try not to encourage this sort of behavior and it's already hard enough to hide my smiles and laughter - whipping out the camera would almost certainly make her want do it bigger and better next time.ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-51156870735242648302010-11-25T17:51:00.001-06:002010-11-25T17:53:40.282-06:00Look what we did today!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TO72JzDisaI/AAAAAAAAAMI/5k2loJHbLlM/s1600/ChristmasTree.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TO72JzDisaI/AAAAAAAAAMI/5k2loJHbLlM/s1600/ChristmasTree.gif" /></a></div><br />And it only took all day...you can see the way the light changes...<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving :)ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-38923786944280935002010-11-23T22:32:00.005-06:002010-11-23T23:36:40.973-06:00ClaireMy big girl. She just turned 3. Before the snow came, we went on a series of nature walks to collect leaves for crayon rubbings. She preferred these berries to the leaf project, and they became the perfect "food" to use in her play kitchen. They started shriveling after a few days, so we threw them out the back door for the birds. Whenever we park near one of these trees she is always quick to point the berries out. "Berries for the birds!" She shouts with excitement, even though I'm sitting right in front of her.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TOyXFrAGzhI/AAAAAAAAAMA/hRhvILADnMo/s1600/7888.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TOyXFrAGzhI/AAAAAAAAAMA/hRhvILADnMo/s320/7888.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542971365084548626" border="0" /></a>I love that whenever she can't open a jar or package in the kitchen, she goes straight to the utensil drawer to retrieve the little round rubber gripper thingy (what the heck are those called?) Even if it's a sealed plastic tub. She's also quick to get her little wooden toolbox whenever she hears the word "project."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TOyW0JrYhkI/AAAAAAAAAL4/n60RNWEAzW8/s1600/7865.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TOyW0JrYhkI/AAAAAAAAAL4/n60RNWEAzW8/s320/7865.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542971064081483330" border="0" /></a>I love how she's so inquisitive, and that she always likes to know where everybody is and what they're doing. I also love that she thinks the number 5 is one of the biggest numbers out there. When we asked her how old she thought our preteen mother's helper was, her eyes got big and in a dramatic voice she answered "five." Same thing when we asked her how old her daddy was turning this summer. But my favorite application of this number was when she asked me about something completely unrelated to age. Somebody was in the bathroom and she asked where they were, so I replied "he's going number 2." "No," she said with a know-it-all look, "he's going number 5."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TOyWhWqzNTI/AAAAAAAAALw/InJQAUgWNr4/s1600/7864.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TOyWhWqzNTI/AAAAAAAAALw/InJQAUgWNr4/s320/7864.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542970741151184178" border="0" /></a>It drives me nuts that one of her favorite games to play is the "I'm going to make you chase me around the house before I'll let you wipe my face" game, which means that more often than not she will have crumbs and/or peanut butter on her cheeks and chin. And these crumbs and smears usually show up in the photos I take of her. And as frustrating as this is to the perfectionist in me, I love that she's so happy and carefree; I love that she gets such joy from getting me to chase after her.<br /><br />One day while "helping" me with a project, I was in a hurry and got annoyed by constantly tripping over her and the toys she was lining up on the floor around me. "Claire, go play!" I finally snapped at her. She looked at me, confused, and in an innocent voice replied "I AM playing, mommy!"<br /><br />The student becomes the teacher...ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-81882231496482866072010-10-31T13:28:00.004-06:002010-10-31T13:38:22.177-06:00Dancing QueenWhile checking out a clearance rack one day I found this adorable swimsuit - it seemed awfully cumbersome for swimming, but perfect for playing dress-up. Especially considering the $5 price tag.<br /><br />Claire refused to even look at it when I first took it home and showed her, back when the weather was a gorgeous and steady 70 degrees. And now that the weather has dipped to the 40s and 50s she is suddenly interested in it. Of course. Oh well, I love her dance moves no matter the weather...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3Fe8Vh2rI/AAAAAAAAALo/gjxt10oaycM/s1600/7411.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3Fe8Vh2rI/AAAAAAAAALo/gjxt10oaycM/s320/7411.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534296652491381426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3FQ6C8yjI/AAAAAAAAALg/VVZKcGkYvjw/s1600/7412.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3FQ6C8yjI/AAAAAAAAALg/VVZKcGkYvjw/s320/7412.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534296411358415410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3E-OhXinI/AAAAAAAAALY/DRQndyaGW_M/s1600/7416.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3E-OhXinI/AAAAAAAAALY/DRQndyaGW_M/s320/7416.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534296090437192306" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-23169453188070658332010-10-31T13:09:00.004-06:002010-10-31T13:23:27.838-06:00Three of my favorite fruitsA stowaway who made it from the field to the co-op to my refrigerator, and is now somewhere back outside but about 30 miles from home.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM2_R90dfQI/AAAAAAAAALA/gbLpVKD46lA/s1600/7293.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM2_R90dfQI/AAAAAAAAALA/gbLpVKD46lA/s320/7293.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534289832481488130" border="0" /></a><br />Guess who did this?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM2_6lJ9T2I/AAAAAAAAALI/YT36GNvQgLY/s1600/7297.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM2_6lJ9T2I/AAAAAAAAALI/YT36GNvQgLY/s320/7297.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534290530235404130" border="0" /></a><br />Yep, guilty as charged :)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3ANChDNpI/AAAAAAAAALQ/ClWWd37GwDo/s1600/7388.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TM3ANChDNpI/AAAAAAAAALQ/ClWWd37GwDo/s320/7388.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534290847354533522" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-14315783778636336402010-10-26T19:24:00.003-05:002010-10-26T19:59:15.777-05:00The fire truck just left...Our city has some really great EMTs and policemen (which we know from <a href="http://arthritogirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/ardens-birth-story-part-2-transfer.html">our experience with the ambulance</a>) and now we know that our city also has a great team at the fire department, too.<br /><br />I was taking a bath before starting bedtime routine with the girls when I heard Mark call my name from downstairs. There was an urgency in his voice that I don't think I've ever heard before. "What's that smell?" He called. "You need to come out!"<br /><br />I quickly wrapped a towel around myself and opened the door, and was met by a strong odor. Kind of like that plastic/metallic/chemical smell when you buy new electronics, only super strong. Whoah. "Where is that coming from?" I called to Mark, who was on his way up the stairs, trying to follow the scent with his nose.<br /><br />"I don't know," he said as he shut Claire's bedroom door. "But it's not up here."<br /><br />I threw on my clothes and joined him in the hunt for the source. We couldn't pinpoint it - our open floorplan had foiled us again! Equally worrisome was the buzzing noise we could hear, a little louder than the furnace, which was also on, and we finally pinpointed it to the wall near our thermostat. The wall was vibrating, and the smell was even stronger near it. It smelled like burnt plastic. "What <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> that?" Mark handed Arden to me and ran to the basement to check out the furnace, and I started buckling Arden into her carseat. "Do you think we should leave and call the electric company?" I called down to him, but he was already back upstairs by the vibrating wall again.<br /><br />"It's the doorbell." He announced, grabbing a chair from the kitchen. After removing the cover from the doorbell box, he confirmed "definitely the doorbell. It's shorting out." I stepped outside and rang the bell (with a shoe! I was afraid of getting shocked. lol) and after quietly dinging, the buzzing stopped. Mark said that the little hammer had melted back.<br /><br />Nervous about how safe it would be to head to bed without resolving this first, we called the fire department and asked if they could send somebody out to verify everything was ok. Mark reiterated that it wasn't an emergency, there was no fire or smoke, and requested no sirens or lights; the dispatcher said she'd make a note of it, but couldn't promise anything.<br /><br />About 7 minutes later a uniformed cop arrived (standard procedure...lights, but no sound), and within another 2-3 minutes two uniformed firemen and a firewoman, along with a nicely dressed gentleman but I don't know what his role was. The woman used a special camera that displayed the heat inside the wall to make sure there wasn't anything else going on (there wasn't), and we explained what had happened to the mystery man. Turns out we have nothing to worry about, but we will need a new doorbell. <br /><br />Whew! All of that for a measly doorbell?? But I'm so grateful we were awake to handle this before it turned into something more serious! And happy to know how quickly the fire department can make it out here.<br /><br />Our neighbors must really wonder what goes on over here...ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-56240461665914202452010-09-24T19:09:00.013-05:002010-09-24T20:07:28.421-05:00Marge's big day outInspired by these videos:<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/nelson.alyssa?v=app_2392950137#%21/video/video.php?v=1462969526901">Marge and Claire 1</a> (1:08)<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1462969526901&amp;saved#%21/video/video.php?v=1463084569777">Marge and Claire 2 </a>(:50)<br /><br />Marge took a trip to Stillwater this afternoon<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ1AK21owmI/AAAAAAAAAKs/2lFemB2VJPc/s1600/Marge01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ1AK21owmI/AAAAAAAAAKs/2lFemB2VJPc/s320/Marge01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520639273489449570" border="0" /></a>After waiting patiently to cross the street,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0_7JBt-xI/AAAAAAAAAKk/0l_OTfkNUZk/s1600/Marge02.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0_7JBt-xI/AAAAAAAAAKk/0l_OTfkNUZk/s320/Marge02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520639003494054674" border="0" /></a>she stopped to gaze at the river for a while<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0_jF0p5GI/AAAAAAAAAKc/eHB9fGKACjM/s1600/Marge03.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0_jF0p5GI/AAAAAAAAAKc/eHB9fGKACjM/s320/Marge03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520638590317093986" border="0" /></a>but then a big gust of wind came and she fell onto the street. Don't worry, she's ok.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0_T0QHhoI/AAAAAAAAAKU/KjCLm1uxVms/s1600/Marge04.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0_T0QHhoI/AAAAAAAAAKU/KjCLm1uxVms/s320/Marge04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520638327902406274" border="0" /></a>The rain has been so heavy that the sidewalks and stairs near the river are all flooded.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0-9yGZcKI/AAAAAAAAAKM/u2bL2okdh9c/s1600/Marge05.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0-9yGZcKI/AAAAAAAAAKM/u2bL2okdh9c/s320/Marge05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520637949367644322" border="0" /></a>She took a rest by some interesting flowers<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0-o9JbI0I/AAAAAAAAAKE/oN6hrU2mygw/s1600/Marge06.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0-o9JbI0I/AAAAAAAAAKE/oN6hrU2mygw/s320/Marge06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520637591555875650" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0-T211qKI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/qTp-NZJhERM/s1600/Marge07.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ0-T211qKI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/qTp-NZJhERM/s320/Marge07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520637229085862050" border="0" /></a>And then stopped for a yummy dinner at Domacin - she recommends the tenderloin with fingerling potatoes and asparagus, with one of the nebbiolos. The curried carrot soup is also delicious.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ1GMlknaVI/AAAAAAAAAK0/iAWSrG0i8rc/s1600/Marge08.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJ1GMlknaVI/AAAAAAAAAK0/iAWSrG0i8rc/s320/Marge08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520645900284160338" border="0" /></a>What a great way to wrap up the week!ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-60137767743787520582010-09-24T10:46:00.004-05:002010-09-24T10:57:41.523-05:00It's that time of year again!Cold and flu season has become synonymous with vaccine season (at least in the sense of heavy advertising...unfortunately, vaccine manufacturers and public agencies consider <span style="font-style: italic;">every</span> season to be vaccine season.) Here's a letter I recently wrote and sent to the corporate offices of Lifetime Fitness. If you feel similarly motivated, I would encourage you to do the same thing - to Lifetime, or any other establishment that is promoting vaccines. 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mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">I joined Lifetime Fitness because I was under the impression that it was a health club, a "healthy way of life company."<span style=""> </span>Imagine my shock and dismay when I passed by the "flu fighters clinic" on the way to drop my kids off at the child center today.<span style=""> </span>As I passed by again I stopped to ask one of the women at the table if they were administering only shots, or if Flu-Mist nasal spray was available as well.<span style=""> </span>She confirmed that both were being given.<span style=""> </span>I told her I was surprised by this, considering the fact that it's a live virus vaccine which can then be spread when recipients cough, sneeze, or breathe.<span style=""> </span>She acknowledged this and shrugged her shoulders.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What is the normal physiological response when an irritant enters the nasal passages? A sneeze.<span style=""> </span>It seems that a large facility filled with people, especially a gym atmosphere where people are exercising and breathing deeply, is not an ideal venue for this sort of risk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I find it incredibly irresponsible of Lifetime clubs to not only promote flu shots and nasal spray, but also to offer the vaccines in the health club setting.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>It's not unlike secondhand smoke, in that my family and I could be harmed just by breathing in the vicinity of a Flu-Mist recipient; we pay for membership here and deserve a safe and truly healthy environment.<span style=""> </span>Furthermore, allowing these "clinics" to take place on LTF premises insinuates endorsement by LTF.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Risks aside, efficacy ranges anywhere from 48% to 90% (<a href="http://www.cdc.gov/flu/professionals/vaccination/effectivenessqa.htm">http://www.cdc.gov/flu/professionals/vaccination/effectivenessqa.htm</a>), depending on whether scientists correctly guess which 3 strains will be in circulation the following year.<span style=""> </span>Increasing the amount of toxins in your body impairs the immune system and actually causes you to become more susceptible to illness. <span style=""> </span>I recommend looking up the ingredients in the influenza vaccines, and reassessing whether this is truly a healthy addition to your event schedule (<a href="http://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/pubs/pinkbook/downloads/appendices/B/excipient-table-2.pdf">http://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/pubs/pinkbook/downloads/appendices/B/excipient-table-2.pdf</a>).<span style=""> </span>For more information regarding the risks, I recommend browsing the VAERS (Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System) database.<span style=""> </span>This is a government program run by the CDC and FDA to keep track of, and compensate victims of, vaccine reactions.<span style=""> </span>(<a href="http://vaers.hhs.gov/data/data/">http://vaers.hhs.gov/data/data/</a>)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>This is a very controversial and political subject, one that Lifetime should not become involved in promoting.<span style=""> </span>I am urging you to shut these clinics down immediately for the safety of your members, and the credibility of your establishment.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thank you for your time and consideration.<span style=""> </span>I would appreciate somebody following up with me as soon as possible.</p><p class="MsoNormal">(I didn't include this picture, but thought it was an appropriate addition to this post. Click to enlarge it - it's a good one)<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJzJoLesnSI/AAAAAAAAAJs/KHPTuMsXaIE/s1600/fluvaccplayset_dees.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJzJoLesnSI/AAAAAAAAAJs/KHPTuMsXaIE/s320/fluvaccplayset_dees.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520508935362878754" border="0" /></a><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-76334139081138097492010-09-22T21:00:00.006-05:002010-09-22T21:21:55.690-05:00Pigtails and chocolateWhile I was making lunch today, Claire came up to me and announced that she wanted some chocolate. She asked several times while I cut an onion, sliced some cheese, and layered them with tortillas in the cast iron skillet. And she asked again while we were eating our quesadillas for lunch. I distractedly kept telling her no, that after lunch it was time for nap and <span style="font-style: italic;">then</span> she could have some chocolate. A few bites later and she asked yet again, so I decided to explain why.<br /><br />"Honey, chocolate has caffeine in it...can you say caffeine?" She repeated it perfectly. "Caffeine makes it difficult to sleep, so we don't eat chocolate right before nap. But we can have some after you wake up!" She looked like she was digesting this information along with her food, and let the issue drop.<br /><br />She took a great nap and I forgot about her request until we were back in the kitchen a few hours later, and she went running toward the cupboard that we keep chocolate in (when we have it). Pumping a fist in the air, she joyfully yelled "I WANT CAFFEINE! I WANT CAFFEINE!" So we enjoyed a few pieces of an organic chocolate bar together and all was well. <br /><br />A few pics from our chocolate-enhanced afternoon...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq2_WQ_HUI/AAAAAAAAAJE/NW35bTKWOkE/s1600/Arden01+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq2_WQ_HUI/AAAAAAAAAJE/NW35bTKWOkE/s320/Arden01+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519925492720803138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3MLMGeaI/AAAAAAAAAJM/3W0RHv4HH1Y/s1600/Arden02+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3MLMGeaI/AAAAAAAAAJM/3W0RHv4HH1Y/s320/Arden02+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519925713085823394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3WjJLIwI/AAAAAAAAAJU/E0etn4lRpm4/s1600/Arden03+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3WjJLIwI/AAAAAAAAAJU/E0etn4lRpm4/s320/Arden03+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519925891314688770" border="0" /></a><br />I threw my hair into pigtails for my workout, so Claire requested the same for her hair. We couldn't find the other pink rubberband, so we went with one pink and one orange...and she actually kept them in for a while! Notice her entourage: Baby on the left (we recently named her Lucy) and Marge on the right. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3hl5_7KI/AAAAAAAAAJc/--UulhoUmS4/s1600/Claire01+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3hl5_7KI/AAAAAAAAAJc/--UulhoUmS4/s320/Claire01+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519926081034906786" border="0" /></a><br />A local school supply store is changing locations so everything was on sale; I got Claire a bunch of pencils, a pencil sharpener, and a few blank hard-cover books to color and write in. Later, when I was putting these items away, she got an urgent tone and said "hey, what are you doing with my lessons?!" <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3t92W-kI/AAAAAAAAAJk/6bis7jqdP-o/s1600/Claire02+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJq3t92W-kI/AAAAAAAAAJk/6bis7jqdP-o/s320/Claire02+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519926293620521538" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-29466839191773490232010-09-15T21:28:00.003-05:002010-09-15T22:04:33.423-05:00Walk a mile in theseI'll admit it: I've been teased by multiple people about my gym shoes recently. Yes, they're a little ratty, but there's a reason I've been rockin' the Rykas for nearly 10 years. (Yes, the same pair for almost 10 years. You heard me right!)<br /><br />They are THE most comfortable shoes I've ever owned, hands down. I've worn them for everything from running to weight lifting, a variety of martial arts to running errands and shopping (but not shopping for gym shoes...because why replace perfection?)<br /><br />Over the years they've gotten a little dingy, and the soles have really worn down. It wasn't until I returned to them after taking a break after Arden's birth that I saw them with new eyes. Yikes. That is one worn out pair of shoes! I was a little embarrassed when I was lying on my new chiropractor's table and he took my shoes in his hands to compare the lengths of my legs. He probably thinks I'm homeless, I thought. "Uh, I know I need new shoes," I said with a little laugh. <br /><br />"You know you're supposed to replace running shoes every year, right?" He asked me.<br /><br />After that glorious adjustment I hopped on a treadmill to warm up for my workout; I was walking at a good pace when suddenly one foot felt odd. What is that, I wondered. I stepped onto the siderails and bent my knee to see the bottom of the offending shoe, and to my surprise (!) there was a large chunk of sole missing. I turned around to look behind me, and sure enough - there it was, lying on the ground. It had flown off of the treadmill. How embarrassing! I wondered how many people had seen, and felt like everybody was watching me pick it up.<br /><br />So, the next day I wore my New Balance gym shoes. Oh, did I not mention that I have a nearly new pair of backup gym shoes? No? Oh, probably because they're the most UNcomfortable shoes ever made. Where the Rykas are soft yet supportive, the New Balances feel as if they're made of metal and molded for somebody else's foot. They press in some spots, and dig in others. My feet actually ached after wearing them for only 2 hours. If my lungs would allow it, I could probably run 50 miles in my Rykas and feel just fine. So that night I hopped online and found a new pair of Rykas. They arrived a few days later and straight out of the box they are <span style="font-style: italic;">just as comfortable as the first pair.</span> I love them so much that I just might be able to throw the old pair away.<br /><br />When I told Mark this great news, he casually asked, "why don't you save them for mowing the lawn, or something?" We both know full well that I have never mowed the lawn, and probably never will. But he has a point...there may be some outdoor project or a need for ratty shoes in the future, and I might as well be comfortable for this mystery project! So they are resting peacefully on the shoe shelf in our closet. Thanks for your service, Pair Number 1; you should have some company in about a year.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJGF9xlI6vI/AAAAAAAAAI8/yY7BMEaug3U/s1600/Shoes.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TJGF9xlI6vI/AAAAAAAAAI8/yY7BMEaug3U/s320/Shoes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517338314833193714" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-37096566470579494732010-08-20T12:33:00.008-05:002011-07-24T23:25:43.736-05:00Pickl-It partyHave you ever wondered what 25 pounds of tomatoes, 3 pounds of basil, and 10 pounds of beets look like? Wonder no more...<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG69BQ7VAdI/AAAAAAAAAIU/Y91FAZlVTko/s1600/Veggies01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507547223742022098" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG69BQ7VAdI/AAAAAAAAAIU/Y91FAZlVTko/s320/Veggies01.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>My good friend Susan told me about a great deal her <a href="http://www.localharvest.org/csa/">CSA</a> is having right now, and I just had to get in on it with her. So with plans to do some freezing and lacto-fermenting, we signed ourselves up for these insane amounts of produce.<br /><br />This morning was our <a href="http://www.pickl-it.com/about/our_story/">Pickl-It</a> party, which is really just a fancy way of saying "hey, let's do this together so that maybe the kids will keep each other occupied long enough for us to make a dent in these huge quantities." The box of tomatoes and the bag of basil are all mine (Susan got her own) and we decided to split the beets between us.<br /><br />Phase 1 of the plan is to peel and slice/grate the beets and throw them into Pickl-Its for yummy, <a href="http://www.pickl-it.com/blog/319/brine-sauerkraut-beets/">lacto-fermented pickled beets</a> - they're probiotic! Phase 2 is to process the basil with olive oil and freeze in small portions for quick pesto-making and sauce-seasoning all winter long. And finally, phase 3 of the plan is to core and freeze the tomatoes for use in stews and sauces this winter (because anything in a can is bad, but <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/naomi-starkman/tests-find-wide-range-of_b_342967.html">canned tomatoes are especially unhealthy</a> due to their acidity which leeches even more BPA; jarred tomatoes are really expensive).<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG69RsQOVHI/AAAAAAAAAIc/efxCfpMUCw4/s1600/Veggies04.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507547505955329138" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG69RsQOVHI/AAAAAAAAAIc/efxCfpMUCw4/s320/Veggies04.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>Were we insane to think we could plow through 10 pounds of the beets in 3 hours while the 2 toddlers and an almost-1-year-old played, and the baby slept? Maybe. Other than a few scuffles over tinker toys and blocks, and meeting the expected needs of the younger two, we did make some progress. We were able to wash and peel about half of the beets. Don't they look like rubies?<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG69nMK6pHI/AAAAAAAAAIk/nv5cNdMDf44/s1600/Veggies11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507547875300254834" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG69nMK6pHI/AAAAAAAAAIk/nv5cNdMDf44/s320/Veggies11.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>This is my hand - after scrubbing with soap, even.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG6932UxZMI/AAAAAAAAAIs/t6lWP_l3UJE/s1600/Veggies12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507548161493787842" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TG6932UxZMI/AAAAAAAAAIs/t6lWP_l3UJE/s320/Veggies12.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>Looks like I have my work cut out for me this afternoon...the food processor will get a nice workout. It's also a good thing we found a freezer on Craigslist - the basil and tomatoes will be nice and cozy with the 1/4 grass-fed cow and 25 gallons of raw milk we put in it last week. Dreaming of getting a <a href="http://www.excaliburdehydrator.com/">food dehydrator</a> now...ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-31359442899863537442010-08-17T20:51:00.005-05:002010-08-17T21:02:08.037-05:00All she needs is a fairy wandMaybe that will be our next mission at the craft store...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs86B9mzvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/Xsj4XuSuVoE/s1600/Claire09+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs86B9mzvI/AAAAAAAAAH0/Xsj4XuSuVoE/s320/Claire09+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506561937047473906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs9NvF-yQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/yh_--vUXTrY/s1600/Claire11+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs9NvF-yQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/yh_--vUXTrY/s320/Claire11+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506562275579709698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs9lBwQzZI/AAAAAAAAAIE/C-eAdV_D_Gw/s1600/Claire13+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs9lBwQzZI/AAAAAAAAAIE/C-eAdV_D_Gw/s320/Claire13+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506562675725880722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs92j8X9BI/AAAAAAAAAIM/3zT8mdVuVr0/s1600/Claire14+copy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGs92j8X9BI/AAAAAAAAAIM/3zT8mdVuVr0/s320/Claire14+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506562976961262610" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-22922560184887036482010-08-13T20:23:00.008-05:002010-08-13T20:43:32.273-05:00For the birdsWe took another field trip to the craft store today, and this time Claire picked out a little wooden birdhouse. (She also picked out a pair of size 15 knitting needles, a knitting frame, a cupcake-making kit, and a bag of tootsie pops, but we only brought the birdhouse home.) It was the perfect painting project for us this afternoon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXyTLxFSQI/AAAAAAAAAHM/jKcNZT8IIqQ/s1600/Birdhouse01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXyTLxFSQI/AAAAAAAAAHM/jKcNZT8IIqQ/s320/Birdhouse01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505072530920392962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXyyD2zU-I/AAAAAAAAAHU/ukuzHZH9_hw/s1600/Birdhouse02.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXyyD2zU-I/AAAAAAAAAHU/ukuzHZH9_hw/s320/Birdhouse02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505073061372842978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Claire also made up her own version of hopscotch to play on the back patio<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXzTxBFwKI/AAAAAAAAAHc/vpL7otrRNw0/s1600/Claire05.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXzTxBFwKI/AAAAAAAAAHc/vpL7otrRNw0/s320/Claire05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505073640431272098" border="0" /></a><br /><br />While I was putting the groceries away she stole a tomato, sprinkled pepper on it, and ate it like an apple<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXz6cg6HaI/AAAAAAAAAHk/cHIfrC34a-o/s1600/Claire06.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGXz6cg6HaI/AAAAAAAAAHk/cHIfrC34a-o/s320/Claire06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505074304942480802" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And this is what we saw in the backyard before heading up to bed<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGX0bWwQwgI/AAAAAAAAAHs/zQYmYelRm5U/s1600/Rainbow.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGX0bWwQwgI/AAAAAAAAAHs/zQYmYelRm5U/s320/Rainbow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505074870331949570" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-77843806808994828512010-08-12T23:11:00.004-05:002010-08-12T23:16:33.451-05:00BedheadsA rare moment where Claire stood still long enough to have her picture taken (as soon as this was snapped, she dove back down onto the bed to snuggle Arden some more)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTGT5vI60I/AAAAAAAAAG8/MFCvzzXpEZQ/s1600/Claire01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTGT5vI60I/AAAAAAAAAG8/MFCvzzXpEZQ/s320/Claire01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504742689771940674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />There's no such thing as Bedhead when your hair is this short (even if there were, who would notice it beyond a smile this bright?)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTGl9LryxI/AAAAAAAAAHE/DdujWaXKhNQ/s1600/Arden14.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTGl9LryxI/AAAAAAAAAHE/DdujWaXKhNQ/s320/Arden14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504742999934618386" border="0" /></a><br />I love my girls :)ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-73106182831867063292010-08-12T22:49:00.010-05:002010-08-12T23:07:17.867-05:00The windows needed washing, anywayToday we stayed in our pajamas all day. Ok, we've done that a lot this summer, so today wasn't out of the ordinary in that regard. What set today apart was that we painted the windows.<br /><br />A few days ago we took a field trip to a craft store because the cord cleat for Claire's bedroom blinds snapped in half, and it's been really irritating trying to wind the cord around a tiny little screw each morning. Of course, I can't visit a craft store without walking up and down every single aisle, and while we were doing this Claire happened to find the perfect tube of bright pink paint. It was just the size for her little 2.5 year old hand to grasp, and she was being so patient with my wandering that I told her we could get it. I hesitated at first upon noticing that it was window paint, but then I realized how fun it might be to paint on the windows...and I was right:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTCMvctvgI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Tju8ycmoplA/s1600/PinkPaint01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTCMvctvgI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Tju8ycmoplA/s320/PinkPaint01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504738168704712194" border="0" /></a>Tengo Bingo!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTCcg_ihVI/AAAAAAAAAGc/YsXOGWgrLCc/s1600/PinkPaint03.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTCcg_ihVI/AAAAAAAAAGc/YsXOGWgrLCc/s320/PinkPaint03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504738439702152530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTCqHmVdcI/AAAAAAAAAGk/I58JpfHiUTU/s1600/PinkPaint04.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTCqHmVdcI/AAAAAAAAAGk/I58JpfHiUTU/s320/PinkPaint04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504738673403721154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTC3qFHUiI/AAAAAAAAAGs/IKT1IIfLLLA/s1600/PinkPaint05.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTC3qFHUiI/AAAAAAAAAGs/IKT1IIfLLLA/s320/PinkPaint05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504738905997922850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTDEowk9CI/AAAAAAAAAG0/YYx_JyDUUUM/s1600/PinkPaint06.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TGTDEowk9CI/AAAAAAAAAG0/YYx_JyDUUUM/s320/PinkPaint06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504739128981648418" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Cleanup wasn't too bad; it came off pretty easily with water and then I followed that up with vinegar to eliminate the water spots. The windows had been covered with sticky little hand prints so they needed a washing, anyway.<br /><br />I have another project that's calling me back to the craft store tomorrow...I wonder what else we'll find while we're there?ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-38051677466228291082010-07-24T12:50:00.008-05:002011-07-24T23:28:26.816-05:00Probiotic PicklesAfter reading <a href="http://www.pickl-it.com/blog/509/kosher-pickling-cukes-made-easy/">this post</a> my mouth was watering for pickles. And not only are lacto-fermented pickles tasty, but they are loaded with health benefits.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“The proliferation of lactobacilli in fermented vegetables enhances their digestibility and increases vitamin levels. These beneficial organisms produce numerous helpful enzymes as well as antibiotic and anti carcinogenic substances. Their main by-product, lactic acid, not only keeps vegetables and fruits in a state of perfect preservation but also promotes the growth of healthy flora throughout the intestine.”</span> – Sally Fallon, co-author of Nourishing Traditions (<a href="http://www.pickl-it.com/blog/125/collection-favorite-lacto-fermentation-quotes/">Here</a> is more interesting info if you're interested.)<br /><br />While picking up groceries at the co-op last night I saw organic pickling cucumbers, so I grabbed some along with the spices called for in the recipe at the link above (so thankful for my new smart phone! It was easy finding this recipe while standing in the produce department.)<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TEsrsDbWtzI/AAAAAAAAAF8/UwJ5mMB_G0M/s1600/Pickles01a.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497535805970102066" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TEsrsDbWtzI/AAAAAAAAAF8/UwJ5mMB_G0M/s320/Pickles01a.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br /><br />After getting the girls down for their afternoon nap I got to work. Maybe "work" isn't the right word, because it was actually super easy and fun - kind of a cross between making a cake from a boxed mix and playing <a href="http://www.tetris.com/">Tetris</a>. Seriously.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TEssAoj6iRI/AAAAAAAAAGE/LWUXfBnL9R8/s1600/Pickles02a.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497536159535499538" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TEssAoj6iRI/AAAAAAAAAGE/LWUXfBnL9R8/s320/Pickles02a.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br /><br />I had bought the 10 or so dry spices in bulk, so each was in its own little baggie and required dumping into a bowl (out of the 5+ cups it made, the recipe only calls for 2 Tbs per 4lbs of cukes.) In another bowl I mixed the salt and water together for the brine. And then after washing the pickling cucumbers and cutting up an onion came the fun part: packing them into the Pickl-It jars Tetris-style.<br /><br />I had enough cucumbers to fill four 1.5 liter jars so I adjusted the rest of the recipe accordingly, and before I knew it the jars were filled.<br /><br />"Really? That's it?" I thought to myself. "That was sure easy!"<br /><br />Now for the most difficult part of this whole process...waiting until they're done :)<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TEssVO30k0I/AAAAAAAAAGM/N3xpDGbnavk/s1600/Pickles04.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497536513416926018" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TEssVO30k0I/AAAAAAAAAGM/N3xpDGbnavk/s320/Pickles04.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 214px;" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-6761317065197226692010-06-24T18:21:00.002-05:002010-06-24T18:57:41.267-05:00One of those daysHave you ever had one of those days? The kind where you keep finding yourself sighing and saying, "are you <span style="font-style: italic;">kidding</span> me?" because it's just one thing after another?<br /><br />The day started out fine, with plans to bake a crumb cake, meet a group of friends at a park in the morning, and meet up with another friend to hit a farmer's market in the afternoon. <br /><br />So after getting out of bed at 5:30 I took the girls downstairs to get started on breakfast and preparing for the day. Yesterday morning I had mixed up the dough for the crumb cake - made with sourdough starter - and covered it with a dish towel for the 24 hour ferment/rise. When I pulled the towel off this morning I noticed something moving...a little bug running along the surface. Figuring he probably wasn't traveling alone and feeling really grossed out I threw the dough away, bummed because I was wasting it and wouldn't have the tasty treat for breakfast. "Oh well," I thought, "we have vanilla yogurt, homemade granola with walnuts, and fresh strawberries and blueberries; that sounds really good!" So we ate that.<br /><br />After breakfast I tended to the chicken stock that had been simmering on the stove all night. I carefully took all of the pieces out of the liquid, and separated the meat from the bones (a tedious process, but oh so worth it! I love making chicken salad, enchiladas, and other meals from the meat, and the stock always comes in handy while cooking.) I packed a picnic lunch, got myself and Claire ready, and somehow it was almost 9:00.<br /><br />The plan was to leave at 9, so I nursed Arden and then laid her down on my bed so I could throw my hair into a ponytail. As soon as I did she started projectile spitting up - it was as if she had a hose in her mouth, turned on high, spewing a steady stream of liquid. This is unusual for Arden, so I was a little alarmed. I grabbed her to keep her upright, and it kept flowing. In all it must have been 2 or 2.5 cups of breastmilk (how did she get that much in there in the first place?!) that drenched her, me, and the bed. I quickly mopped it up and changed her outfit and diaper. We were 30 minutes late to the park, which isn't a huge deal, but it certainly wasn't a relaxing morning, either.<br /><br />We had fun with our friends, but when we got home I saw the bowl of chicken sitting on the table. I had forgotten to put it in the fridge before leaving, and it sat out for 6 hours. (*sigh*) After dumping it in the garbage, Claire refused to nap. I could tell she was exhausted, in fact she could barely keep her eyes open, but she did everything she could to keep her body moving to avoid sleep. I was wiped out and had really been looking forward to the break (and bummed that my streak was over - for the last 5 or so weeks I had been getting both girls to nap at the same time!) Later when we got to the farmer's market I realized that I had forgotten my sling for Arden at home. By the way this day is going I guess I'm lucky I didn't forget Arden!<br /><br />When I was going through the mail I came across a letter from the insurance company regarding my settlement. Directions on the form include signing it in front of a notary - this is extremely frustrating because I just spent 45 minutes at the bank YESTERDAY having the form for Arden's birth certificate notarized. <br /><br />And there's even more, but I'm tired of complaining and I realize that these are minor things to be complaining about in the first place.<br /><br />Can this day just be over, please?ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-77604913270463128512010-06-20T10:12:00.008-05:002010-06-20T10:42:06.270-05:00Front porch funWe need to get this girl a sandbox or a sand table.<br /><br />This morning Mark commented on our pathetic-looking geraniums which have been denied water since...well, since my mom planted them a few months ago. (Sorry, mom!) They've gotten a little rain here and there, but are mostly protected from it up on the porch. Unfortunately, they are not protected from the intense afternoon sun...you do the math. I'm usually outnumbered by kids and have a million other things to do, so I took advantage of Mark's help and grabbed a watering can.<br /><br />Claire followed me outside and started playing with a hose nozzle that was lying near the outdoor faucet, so I left the front door open after I was done watering. We were all still in pajamas, but she was having so much fun walking up and down the porch, pretending to water the plants. And then she started coming inside to her play kitchen, "filling up" the nozzle with water and bringing it back out to the plants. I got involved in other projects and when I peeked out to check on her a few minutes later she was digging in the dirt with one of her measuring spoons.<br /><br />Funny how as parents we learn to...um, <span style="font-style: italic;">adjust</span> our expectations and tolerances. I appreciate neat and tidy surroundings, but when kids are having fun I've learned to just let the mess go. Instead of worrying about the piles of dirt growing on the front porch I wondered if it was toxic Miracle Gro brand potting soil or the new organic stuff Mark had picked up this spring (pretty sure it was the organic stuff.)<br /><br />Soon Claire's tools also included her little ceramic teapot (which, sadly, broke when she dropped it on the concrete) and she was having full conversations with an imaginary friend, going back and forth between the planters and her play kitchen. It was so cute, I just had to snap some pictures. Oh, and notice her favorite yellow pajamas - from two different sets - and her "ballet" shoes which she insists on wearing all day, every day. She also has her favorite aqua socks on, but you can't see them in this picture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4zFdyprPI/AAAAAAAAAFA/T3e5PU9f3Ao/s1600/Porch02.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4zFdyprPI/AAAAAAAAAFA/T3e5PU9f3Ao/s320/Porch02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484877565173279986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4zqTaPnHI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/rnamlD_jIBc/s1600/Porch06.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4zqTaPnHI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/rnamlD_jIBc/s320/Porch06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484878198041713778" border="0" /></a><br /><br />These poor geraniums! I will try to water them more often now that I'm up and around.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4z9z8MKQI/AAAAAAAAAFY/ewdULAaB3GE/s1600/Porch07.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4z9z8MKQI/AAAAAAAAAFY/ewdULAaB3GE/s320/Porch07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484878533191543042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />While I was outside with her she also ventured out to the big planter in the front yard for some exploration. (Check out her lovely aqua socks!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4zZqwlC0I/AAAAAAAAAFI/miYdNiD1Cls/s1600/Porch04.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB4zZqwlC0I/AAAAAAAAAFI/miYdNiD1Cls/s320/Porch04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484877912251632450" border="0" /></a><br /><br />When I was done taking pictures outside I headed in to vacuum. Claire followed because she loves to pretend with her little wooden ball popper thingy. Here she is vacuuming. What a big helper! :)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB40_wNeb9I/AAAAAAAAAFg/a_mRkY4420A/s1600/Porch08.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB40_wNeb9I/AAAAAAAAAFg/a_mRkY4420A/s320/Porch08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484879666061668306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB41MT3t7DI/AAAAAAAAAFo/zXWSagJA2as/s1600/Porch09.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TB41MT3t7DI/AAAAAAAAAFo/zXWSagJA2as/s320/Porch09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484879881792515122" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-17799622767676876202010-06-17T14:49:00.007-05:002010-06-17T15:05:43.580-05:00Fun with cherriesI love this time of year, when berries and cherries are in season, and well-stocked at the market. For today's afternoon snack I washed a bunch of cherries, and cut the pit out of the ones for Claire. She was happily eating her halved cherries while I tended to Arden when I saw her slip away; I walked in the direction she had run and noticed a pink swirl on the wall around her eye level and knew she must be in a creative mood.<br /><br />"Claire?" I called. She reappeared.<br /><br />"Please don't smear your cherries on the wall, ok? Cherries are only for eating, not drawing." I tried to hide a smile, realizing how ridiculous my request sounded.<br /><br />She ran and hid underneath her little table, so I followed and knelt down to peek under the table. I wanted her to know that I wasn't mad, but I was serious about not drawing on the walls with food. When I looked under the table I was met with a big grin surrounded by a pink-swirled face.<br /><br />"No cleaning the walls with cherries?" she asked innocently.<br /><br />"No, no cleaning the walls OR drawing on our faces and hair with cherries, please." Guess who's getting a bath tonight? At least it's better than permanent marker...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp-bBXPY6I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/V2zhH7rTheU/s1600/Claire01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp-bBXPY6I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/V2zhH7rTheU/s320/Claire01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483834498964480930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp-udIRrGI/AAAAAAAAAEY/PV62TKfulGA/s1600/Claire02.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp-udIRrGI/AAAAAAAAAEY/PV62TKfulGA/s320/Claire02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483834832835423330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp--GNeyfI/AAAAAAAAAEg/Cs6B4yjYZkA/s1600/Claire03.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp--GNeyfI/AAAAAAAAAEg/Cs6B4yjYZkA/s320/Claire03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483835101561145842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp_L2CfoDI/AAAAAAAAAEo/V7whCV-2Rs0/s1600/Claire04.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp_L2CfoDI/AAAAAAAAAEo/V7whCV-2Rs0/s320/Claire04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483835337738264626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp_aW_axtI/AAAAAAAAAEw/0GeXLTj2zSk/s1600/Claire05.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp_aW_axtI/AAAAAAAAAEw/0GeXLTj2zSk/s320/Claire05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483835587101902546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp_ooCebeI/AAAAAAAAAE4/Sw6ZsRVpQQo/s1600/Claire06.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zXF_ak1KMa0/TBp_ooCebeI/AAAAAAAAAE4/Sw6ZsRVpQQo/s320/Claire06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483835832196296162" border="0" /></a>ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-36940946485726291022010-05-29T18:19:00.005-05:002010-05-30T06:25:16.837-05:00What, you don't have one in your fridge?While cleaning out the fridge today I spotted an unidentifiable object that piqued my interest. There have been many surprises in the fridge lately because I was bedridden for 3 weeks after Arden's birth, and we've been blessed with friends bringing us yummy meals on a regular basis ever since.<br /><br />This particular item was a gallon ziploc bag within another gallon ziploc bag, the solid contents concealed in about a quart of red liquid. At first I thought it was leftovers of a vegetable soup somebody had made for us, but it was a slightly different shade of red and I soon spotted the aforementioned soup on a different shelf. I picked up the bag and squeezed it while turning it over and over in my hands. "What <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> this?" I wondered, trying to see through the red.<br /><br />I finally caught a glimpse of something and suddenly realized what it was, or at least what I thought it was. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Is this our placenta?"</span> I wondered. I remembered my friend Susan telling me that she had put it in the freezer the morning of the birth, so that made me wonder what it was doing in the fridge. Later on I asked Mark if it was our placenta that I had found in the fridge.<br /><br />"No, it's a steak I'm thawing out," he replied.<br /><br />"A steak with an umbilical cord?" I asked.<br /><br />We both headed to the fridge and I pulled out the mystery bag. I could tell by the look on his face that it was much soup-ier than he expected, and we both knew immediately that he had just accidentally thawed our placenta. I can actually see how this mistake could be made - in its frozen state it must have looked solid and very much like a steak. But not so much once it thawed<br /><br />"Who keeps the placenta, anyway?" Mark asked incredulously, trying to defend himself.<br /><br />"Who throws them away?" I countered, "They're rich in vitamins and nutrients. I thought we could plant something over it in the yard."<br /><br />In traditional cultures placentas are buried underneath fruit trees to commemorate the birth and fertilize the tree. Some people eat them ground up in a smoothie or lasagna (not my particular cup of tea, but to each her own), and some people <a href="http://placentabenefits.info/about.asp">have them encapsulated</a> (which I considered, but I never got around to finding somebody to do it for me.) It has been shown that ingesting the placenta can help combat baby blues/postpartum depression, insufficient milk supply, anemia, insomnia and postpartum hemorrhage, and in general help the mother recover from the birth more quickly. And it makes sense that something designed to nourish the baby could also nourish other living things. So that is why I, and many other women, decide to keep the placenta. I just haven't decided exactly what to do with ours yet and, if this is any indication of how hectic things have been around here, hadn't explicitly told Mark to expect seeing ours in the freezer (although I could have sworn I mentioned it to him several times offhandedly while I was pregnant...)<br /><br />So, who wants to come over for dinner? (ha, ha)ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-43156385150379336912010-05-09T21:50:00.002-05:002010-05-10T08:45:36.785-05:00Arden's Birth Story, Part 2: The TransferAfter our beautiful birth I got out of the tub and was helped over to the bed to be examined, birth the placenta, and nurse the baby. I was still pretty dazed so it’s all kind of a blur but I remember Jeanne pushing on my belly to see if my uterus was contracting, and the resulting gush of blood each time. I was feeling really weak and tired, losing so much blood. While I nursed Arden, Karen fed me a bowl of yogurt and granola (which for some reason sounded and tasted amazing at the time) and a glass of iced shepherd’s purse tea (which tasted awful, but is supposed to help the uterus to contract and stop the bleeding).<br /><br />“No offense, Sarah,” I said, “but your tea tastes awful!” “I know,” she replied with a smile, “it kind of tastes like a stable, doesn’t it?” The nourishment helped me to feel a little better, but I was still bleeding and feeling weak. I don’t remember the order of the following, but over the next short period of time Jeanne gave me two shots of Pitocin in my thigh and I was asked to blow into my straw to make bubbles in my tea to help me push the placenta out (so much better than somebody tugging on the cord, as was done to me after Claire’s birth! No resulting pain or surgery this time!)<br /><br />It wasn’t long before the idea of transferring to the hospital was brought up to me. I could see the concern in everybody’s eyes, and I was feeling so tired that even lying there doing nothing was a chore, so it was no surprise to me. By this time my friend Susan had arrived and was playing with Claire; there was a lot of activity going on around me, but I wasn’t very aware. I remember Sarah putting an oxygen mask on me, but it was so loud that I couldn’t hear what everybody around me was saying. Soon Jeanne leaned over and gently said that she thought an ambulance would be a good idea – there was no way I’d make it down the stairs in my condition. I agreed, and the flurry of activity continued as everybody helped me get dressed, alerted Mark and Susan (who were caring for the kids downstairs), and packed up equipment.<br /><br />Within minutes two men in uniform appeared at the foot of my bed and introduced themselves as Val and John. I wasn’t sure what to expect – I’ve heard of home birth transfers where EMTs and hospital staff are hostile to the mother and her birth team (as if to say, “the hospital isn’t good enough for you to birth in until there’s an emergency, eh?”) But these two men were very respectful and kind. They brought with them a special wheel chair with gears designed for taking patients down stairs, and carefully loaded and strapped me in while explaining what they were doing. “We’re going to do all the work – once we get going down the stairs, you might feel like you want to reach out and grab onto the railing, but don’t. Keep your arms crossed over your chest and don’t worry,” Val continued with a smile, “we haven’t dropped anybody yet today.” I laughed and told him I’d keep my hands in the bus.<br /><br />Once at the bottom of the stairs we were met by a few police officers who introduced themselves and helped lift me onto a stretcher before wheeling me down our long driveway to the waiting ambulance. It was really nice that they had arrived quietly and without sirens, but why couldn’t they have backed up to the front door? I felt so self conscious like all of the neighbors were probably watching. Just as they loaded me into the ambulance, our new neighbor from a few doors down (of about a week, who we haven’t met yet) pulled out of her driveway and drove past us. What a lovely first impression! Once inside, I looked around and noticed how secure everything was, but I still couldn’t help picturing a scene in the comedy Just Friends where the main character is being transported in an ambulance; equipment is falling off of shelves and onto him with every bump and turn but nobody notices, and his mouth is injured so he can’t talk around the mouthful of gauze. It helped to think of this scene, and to know that we were being followed by Mark, Arden, Jeanne and Sarah. As we rode they took my blood pressure and pulse and inserted an IV, while talking and joking around with me. After calling the hospital with my vitals, Val asked me what our baby’s name was. When I told him we hadn’t decided, he joked that we should name her Valerie, after him (his full name is Valentino.) It was a really pleasant ride, all things considered, and I was so thankful to have gotten such great people for the transfer.<br /><br />I was also fortunate that a great ER doctor, midwife, and team of nurses were working that morning, and soon I was settled in a labor and delivery bed about to be sewn up. It took about an hour and was very painful, even with 6 shots of lidocaine. But it helped having my support team there with me: Mark nearby holding Arden, Jeanne sitting near the hospital midwife watching her careful stitching, and Sarah sitting next to me the entire time, holding my hand and rubbing my arm. About halfway through, the hospital midwife looked over at Jeanne and said “You made the right call.” I wholeheartedly agree; this was not a minor injury. Susan stayed home with Claire (what a treat! Claire later told me all about the fun she had with her good friend’s mom), and Karen stayed home to empty the tub, throw in laundry, and finish cleaning up.<br /><br />The hospital was busy so we waited around until 5:00pm to be released. What a long day! It felt so good to get home and back into my own pajamas and bed. It took all of my energy to do this, but it was worth it. The next day Sarah came over to check on us, and on the third day Jeanne came by. The third day is when a blood test will show the true iron count after a hemorrhage, so Jeanne tested mine. It was an 8, on a scale where 12-15 is normal. So it’s no wonder that a week later I can barely make it out of bed, I’m still so weak. I also injured my tailbone during the birth, so sitting was excruciating at first, and now can be done but only for short periods. I wanted to do the whole “laying in” thing, but I had pictured it a little differently!<br /><br />Even with the transfer and all of these struggles, I am still so satisfied and fulfilled by this birth experience. I had my drug- and intervention- free birth at home, exactly how I wanted it, and we have a beautiful and healthy baby who I cannot stop staring at. I was treated incredibly well the entire time, and continue to be cared for here at home – we have another postpartum visit with our midwives today, and I don’t even have to leave my bed (I felt even worse after Claire’s hospital birth, but still had to make almost daily trips to the hospital and clinic for the two of us). We came home to a clean house, clean laundry, food in the fridge, and a happy toddler.<br /><br />I had an almost identical birth with Claire – drug-free labor and water birth (one intervention, the midwife broke my water), compound presentation and 3rd degree tear, and hemorrhage. But the recovery after that birth was on the other end of the spectrum. The hospital midwife was cold and harsh; nobody held my hand; I was separated from Claire while they examined me; nurses fought in front of me about who was better at putting IVs in and whether the OB should be called or not; despite my protests, the hospital midwife yanked on the umbilical cord to get the placenta out before the hospital’s asinine 30 minute time limit, which resulted in pieces of it remaining stuck inside of me…and this resulted in 2 weeks of dangerous hemorrhaging which made surgery necessary; I barely slept and had great difficulty nursing Claire for 2 days because the hospital bed was so uncomfortable and I was tangled up with tubes, and nurses came in every few hours to take blood, monitor blood pressure and temperature; I had some very nice and competent nurses, but I also had a few terrible ones and it was frustrating dealing with the revolving door of strangers when I didn’t feel well; because my health dipped so low my milk took longer to come in, so Claire lost too much weight and we had the added stress of a baby headed toward “failure to thrive”. The stark contrast between these two births is incredible, and the hospital version was no safer than the home version. In fact, I’m faring much better having birthed at home this time.<br /><br />So as I lay here in bed regularly shifting and re-adjusting the pillows holding me up, and sometimes typing one-handed, I am so thankful. Thankful for the wonderful people who have surrounded me and made this the beautiful experience that it was/is, thankful for my healthy family of 4, thankful for the friends who have visited and brought food. I may still have a few weeks of feeling tired and healing my tailbone on the horizon, but physical wounds heal relatively quickly. It’s been 2 and a half years since Claire’s birth and I am still dealing with the emotions resulting from the poor treatment I received. In a way, this experience is helping to heal the pain from the first. What a powerful gift to give a woman.ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5204971246279284926.post-2740152738473252252010-05-09T21:30:00.003-05:002010-05-09T21:50:29.944-05:00Arden's Birth Story, Part 1: The BirthFor more than a week before Arden was born I felt like labor was just minutes away. I think my body was just starting to prepare that far in advance, which translated to about 10 days of feeling extra sore, achy, crampy, headachy, and frustrated. Before bed each night I would make sure the house was spotless in case that night was the night, and every day I made sure we had plenty of food in the fridge and that everything was labeled just in case. I wanted everything to be perfect for when my birth team arrived, but after this many nights of anticipation I was finally too cranky to care one night. “I will be the first woman on Earth to be pregnant forever,” I thought to myself as I lugged my belly and aching joints up the stairs. It was only 9pm and the house wasn’t spotless, but I said a quick goodnight to Mark and went to bed.<br /><br />This, of course, is the night labor finally started.<br /><br />Around midnight a strong backache woke me from a deep sleep, and I tried to keep myself from wondering if this was <em>it</em>. I had gotten my hopes up so many nights (and days) before. Just as I was starting to drift off again, I felt another wave of tightness in my lower back. This is exactly how Claire’s labor started, so I waited for a few more to establish a pattern, and then woke Mark to give him a heads up. A good plan for labor is to ignore it as long as possible, and to get some fluids, food, a shower, and/or rest in the meantime. And that’s what I would have done, but by 12:20 contractions were lasting 1-2 minutes and were 6 minutes apart; there wasn’t much more I could do than to try and stay comfortable lying on my side in bed, just breathing through them. At this point I told Mark that contractions were “mild, but uncomfortable and definitely there.”<br /><br />Claire’s labor lasted about 17 hours after this same sort of contraction started, but I also knew that a second labor could be significantly shorter – maybe by half – so we weren’t sure what to expect. It felt too early to call anybody, but by 12:49 I told Mark we should call our team so they could start making necessary arrangements. Mark called our midwife Jeanne (who called Sarah, our other midwife), our doulas Karen and Jody, and our photographer Allison, and then began filling the birth tub. We figured it would still be a long time, but I remember saying “wouldn’t it be cool if this baby was born by 6am, so that Claire could get a good night’s sleep and wake up to her new sibling?” We both laughed and continued with the laboring and tub-filling.<br /><br />The contractions stayed centered in my lower back, and I tried a variety of positions to see which offered the most relief: side-lying on the bed, on my knees draped over the exercise ball, and leaning on Mark while standing. It was no contest, lying on my side supported by pillows was the best. I was able to completely relax and focus on long, deep breaths which made the contractions bearable. They began picking up, and at 2:30 they were 4 minutes apart and pretty strong, so I got in the birth tub. “Am I getting in too soon?” I wondered. I had only been laboring a few hours, and worried for a second that we were making too big a deal of this too soon. But it felt right and I was too busy concentrating on my breathing to worry for too long. A few contractions later I asked Mark to call Karen and Allison back – I still kind of wondered if it was too soon, but the contractions were getting more challenging and I felt like I needed my team.<br /><br />I remember when Allison arrived, which according to Mark’s notes was 3:30. I was in the tub, draped over the side with my body floating out behind me. It felt so good to be weightless and comforted by the warmth of the water, and while I was too focused on laboring to do or say much else, Allison’s presence was really comforting. I remember her offering to light the candles I had set out around the room, so that Mark could continue to focus his energy on pressing his hands into my lower back. The counter pressure really helped with the back labor. The only problem was that I needed strong pressure during the contractions, but because my body was floating he was also pushing me down into the water. So I slid around to a long side of the oval tub and onto my knees, upper body still draped over the edge, and was able to get better traction without affecting my relaxation. This also made it easier for him to reach me, which was a good thing because soon I would need this pressure during and between contractions.<br /><br />A few minutes after Allison arrived we heard Claire wake up, so Mark ran in to rub her back and get her back to sleep. I was open to the idea of Claire witnessing the birth – she had watched (and loved!) several birth videos and we had talked a lot about what would be happening, but I felt like sleep was a higher priority for her at 3am. I was glad when Mark returned solo a few minutes later, knowing Claire was getting some much-needed rest. Karen arrived ten minutes after Allison, and I was again comforted just knowing she was there. She knelt down in front of me and I looked up to see her kind eyes and smile looking back at me. Mark was busy adding more hot water to the tub so she casually dipped her fingers in the water to feel the temp, and asked how everything was going as if she did this sort of thing every day (which she kind of does, actually). I loved how relaxed she was about being there, and not having to worry about feeling self-conscious. There’s no time for that nonsense when you’re in labor.<br /><br />“Maybe we should call Jeanne and Sarah,” I said a few minutes later. I was still in denial that things were progressing so quickly, but the need to have them there was stronger. Mark made the call at 3:52 and they both arrived within an hour. They came in quietly and began setting up the supplies I had organized in big plastic tubs off to the side, and I focused on the light crinkling of the plastic tarp beneath their feet as they gently moved about. What a lovely sound, reminding me that I was not alone. I was able to completely surrender to the power of the contractions without fear because I knew I was in good hands.<br /><br />Suddenly something changed, around 5:00 according to the notes, and I asked if there was anything I could do to keep things moving along (as if progressing to contractions that are 2 minutes long and 4 minutes apart in 4 hours wasn’t fast enough?) Maybe a better position, or getting out to walk around? I was looking for a concrete answer, such as “get into a squatting position and the baby will magically appear in 5 minutes.” Or something like that. No such luck; they told me that a position change or walking around could certainly help, and asked what sounded best to me. “I just want this baby out now,” I said with a mix of determination and impatience. Walking sounded like the most drastic measure, so after the next contraction ended I announced that I wanted to get out and take a walk.<br /><br />Working perfectly together as a team they helped me out of the tub, dried me off and wrapped me in a fluffy towel before I set out down the hallway headed for the stairs. I was being driven by some force with the goal to have this baby as soon as possible, but I still don’t know exactly what it was. Excitement to meet our new baby? Knowing that I hadn’t eaten for several hours or gotten much sleep, so my fuel may not last for very much longer? Maybe both, maybe something completely different.<br /><br />I leaned against the railing during a contraction on my way to the top of the stairs, and instantly there was a set of hands expertly pressing against the small of my back and another hand gently stroking my arm. I think it was Karen who accompanied me down the stairs (things were so intense at that point, and I was so focused on my breathing that I am not quite sure who was doing what), and when I got to the bottom I had another strong contraction. Again, as soon as I got on my knees and leaned onto the bottom few stairs with my elbows there were hands helping me, pressing into the perfect spot on my back and readjusting the towel that was loosely wrapped around me. When it was over I trekked back up and headed to the guest bed which we had prepared in case I wanted to labor and/or birth there. I had a few contractions along the way and spent about 20 minutes laboring on my side in bed with the same constant and caring attention. What a blissful change from my hospital birthing experience – I was surrounded by strong support, both emotionally and physically, and I felt powerful enough to let go and allow labor to take over.<br /><br />The last two notes scrawled onto the log Mark and Allison kept are:<br />5:25 – Back in the tub<br />5:28 – “I think I might feel like pushing.”<br /><br />I remember saying that, and yet it didn’t even register in my brain until the words had passed through my lips. “I do?” I thought to myself, incredulously. It took a moment but I realized that, indeed, I did want to push. Mark was busy pressing his hands into my back so Karen knelt down in front of me and put her hands in mine. I pushed gingerly at first, still not quite certain that I was really this far into it because I couldn’t feel the head moving down yet. A few contractions and pushes later and I felt it. Things got even more intense, and I felt a twinge of fear creeping in. “Oh my gosh, I’m really doing this,” I thought. For the first time I felt strong discomfort that breathing alone couldn’t manage. With gentle words of encouragement from my team, I kept pushing through the discomfort and heard myself starting to make sounds for the first time. I grunted with each push as I felt the head descending.<br /><br />Fear took over and I started thinking “I don’t want to do this. Can I just get a little break? I’m not ready yet. This is scary!” Time had finally picked up and I was acutely aware of each passing second. But it was like they were in my head, as if these wonderful and strong women knew exactly what I was thinking. At just the right moment one of them would say the most perfect and encouraging words. Because of this my pushes became more confident. I felt the baby crowning and I reminded myself that the only way out was through it, so I continued to push. Jeanne told me to reach down and feel my baby, but I couldn’t – I thought it would break my concentration – so she did. She later told me that she felt the head, and then she felt fingers…a compound presentation. She also told me later that she saw blood in the water before the baby even crowned, so she knew something was going on. But thankfully I had no idea at the time because of how calm she and everybody else remained.<br /><br />Jeanne gently reminded me to slow down and birth the head slowly, and to keep breathing. My last few pushes were accompanied by loud grunts as the head made its way through, and then by screams that Mark later described as 3 octaves higher than any sound he had ever heard come out of me. The time? 5:59 am, just one minute shy of the time I had mentioned when labor first started. And suddenly there were hands reaching in supporting the baby under water behind me as I sat kneeling in the water, trying to catch my breath. They slowly guided our baby between my legs to the front and helped me lift it out of the water, and then eased me back to sit leaning against the tub. I was dazed, and just sat there cradling and staring at this beautiful little being; a towel was draped over the baby to keep it warm and Jeanne noticed the cord was a little short so she made sure I held the baby’s face up and out of the water without pulling on the placenta. The baby’s heartbeat was checked, and we lifted the towel so Mark could announce… “It’s a girl!” I was elated! What a beautiful and empowering experience for me, and a safe and healthy way for our little girl to enter the world: in the comfort of our own home, with the support of a team we love.<br /><br />And just as I had hoped when labor began, Claire woke up a few minutes later so Mark brought her in to meet her new sibling. Perfect timing! She was still a little sleepy and seemed confused by the crowd of people and the new baby in Mama’s arms, but she came right over to inspect her sibling. I couldn’t say much, but I kept thinking, “I have two daughters…we’re a family of four now!”ArthritoGirlnoreply@blogger.com4